


won't see me walk away

by cynical_optimist



Series: always meant to say goodbye [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
Genre: Angst, F/F, POV Second Person, Post-Season/Series 01, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 20:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: That’s what you said to Adora, isn’t it? This is for the best. || Catra can't remember the last time she slept through the night.





	won't see me walk away

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to get this out of my mind since I wrote the Adora fic, so here it is. Catra is such a fascinating character, and a great unreliable narrator to write, and so very angry at everything right now. So, uh, take some angst, I guess?
> 
> Thanks as always to my brilliant beta [Sarah](http://canonicallyanxious.tumblr.com/), who once again woke up to a thousand words of gay angst in their inbox and was gracious enough to edit it for me. Title from [It Hurts Until It Doesn't](https://genius.com/Mothers-it-hurts-until-it-doesnt-lyrics) by Mother: _but you won't see me, you won't see me/you won't see me walk away _.__

It’s a cold, restless night in the Fright Zone, but that’s nothing new. The Fright Zone has always been unwelcoming, hard, and frigid, and you have carved out your space in it with bloody claws.

It is not your first sleepless night in this place, and you know even without thinking about it that it won’t be your last. Hell, you’re used to them by now. When you were younger, you used to scratch little marks into your doorframe, a useless, childish tally. These were nights you spent away from Adora, wide awake. You didn’t always sleep when you were with Adora, Shadow Weaver’s taunts running a groove through your mind, but at least you weren’t alone. You could rest your head on Adora’s thigh, fingers curled around her ankle, and find at least some sort of peace.

By the time Adora left, you had even started to sleep soundly, most nights. Of course, you’re too old to count things like that these days. Too busy. You’re General Hordak’s second in command, after all. You’re planning to bring down the Princesses properly, assembling soldiers and forming plans.

_ That’s _ what matters these days. Not sleepless nights. Not memories.

By this point, you even have something of a routine. First, you avoid heading to bed as long as possible, because it is far too big and far too empty and the thin blankets have never been enough to keep you warm anyway.

Instead, you stalk down the corridors, shoulders pulled back and strides wide. Authoritative. You are an authority now, after all, after so long shoved into shadows and bent under boots. You are in charge, and that’s worth the long hours spent awake, wandering halls and staring at ceilings.

It is.

Besides, you don’t have to spend the night wandering if you don’t want to. The chances that Entrapta is asleep are pretty much nil, at this point; you could keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t do anything to burn the whole place down. You know where Scorpia’s room is, and you doubt she’d mind the intrusion. Would welcome it, even. There are ways to avoid an empty bed that are not this.

And yet. And yet.

You find yourself keeping to the sides of the corridor again, tucking yourself into the scant shadows. Habit; you have too many bad habits, these days. You step out again, make your footfalls firm. You can feel exhaustion down to your fingertips, but you will not sleep yet.

_ Look at me now, Adora _ , you think, a growl deep in your gut. You imagine saying it to her face, imagine what she would look like, imagine what she would say.

She’d try to cut you down again, probably: you’d have cut her down first.

You blink, turn down another hall. A soldier on patrol nods at you as you pass him, and you nod back. Three years ago, he kicked at you and called you a pest; you almost tore his ear off. Shadow Weaver had been furious, but then, she always was with you. You can’t see his face under the helmet but you hope it healed terribly.

A step back, then: you wonder what Adora of three years ago, of three months ago, would say if she saw you now. Something  _ nice _ , probably, in a way that made your heart squirm uncomfortably in your chest. Something sweet and encouraging about defeating the Princesses, because the world is nothing if not an ironic mess. She’d stand by your side, and it would be the two of you against the world, just as it had always been.

No, though. That’s not quite right. She’d stand a little to the front-and-left of you, and  _ she  _ would be the one fighting Princesses, while you skulked in the shadows and slept in her bed and bit your tongue when Shadow Weaver called you a useless fucking waste of space.

That’s what you said to Adora, isn’t it? This is for the best. Maybe not for Adora, or for the Princesses, because the Horde will overwhelm them in the end, but  _ shit _ , this really is the best outcome for you, isn’t it?

It’s brilliant, really: you are second in command to the entire Horde, and you have power and authority, and no one’s shadow eclipses yours. It’s the best outcome you could have asked for; it’s one you tore out for yourself with your own teeth and claws and a good four of your nine lives.

It’s the closest thing to a happy ending you’re ever going to get, and you need to start remembering that.

Because really,  _ fuck Adora _ . Fuck her golden child bullshit, and her holier-than-thou attitude, and the way she kept you trailing behind her like some sort of eager puppy. Fuck her, and the fact that somehow, even though you have your own room now, you’ve ended up outside the cadets quarters you shared with her all your life.

Without any difficulty, you can spot the tiny scratches in the door, a ridiculous remnant of an era long past. Scowling, you run one long claw through the lines, scoring into the metal frame. There: younger Catra’s hopeful imaginings, scored from memory. A Catra that small would have dreamt of Adora coming back, would never have conceived of her leaving.

You’ve grown out of that now. You have.

Curling your lip and resisting the urge to hiss at the door, you turn away, heading back down the hall. That’s enough wandering for tonight, then. If you are too tired to keep your feet from betraying you, maybe you will sleep. Maybe you won’t dream.

Maybe, if you do dream, you’ll dream of chasing rats down alleys, or of Hordak as  _ your _ second in command, or of growling at dogs. Maybe, if you do dream, none of your thoughts will concern Adora, or the way she promised to protect you and  _ left _ , or of throwing the sword down that cavern and seeing her fingers slip and her eyes grow wide and cold and dim, or of cutting She-Ra down and watching Adora fall to the ground.

Or maybe, you won’t sleep, and won’t dream at all.

You make your way back to your rooms, and they are big and empty and unfamiliar, and you are alone but you always are, these days. You hang up your headpiece, place your badge on the bedside table, and curl up in the bed. The pillow is soft under your head, and cool to the touch; the blanket is scratchy and too new to be comfortable. You adjust, and then adjust again.

You think, traitorously, that you could always sleep when Adora was with you. That maybe if she were here now, you could curl up at her feet, or her breastbone, claws retracted and fingers gripping tightly at her clothes. That maybe, if she were here, you could sleep, and be at peace.

Fuck Adora, and the way your heart still quivers in your chest when you look at her, the way you have never purred around another person but her, the way your hands shake when you think about your claws at her throat, in her skin. Fuck her for ruining you like this, for keeping you close and vulnerable even as she promised to protect you.

Fuck her. Fuck her and her new friends, and the restful sleep she is no doubt having, secure in her place in the world. Fuck her for leaving you alone.

You turn your face up to the ceiling and close your eyes and breathe deep, and relax your limbs as best you can. You don’t think about her; you don’t.

You close your eyes, and you do not sleep.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @[boxesfullofthoughts](http://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com/), or twitter @[lydthethinker](https://twitter.com/lydthethinker/) !


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